


the eyes, they see

by st_spectre



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Awkward Conversations, Bellamy being sweet and cute and brotherly, Clarke being... really awkward, Drabble Collection, Drinking, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Lexa being weird as shit, Romance, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 00:31:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3431321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_spectre/pseuds/st_spectre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke moves into town and starts work at a small coffee shop on main street.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the shop

**Author's Note:**

> So, basically this is just like... A collection of drabbles. Drabbles that kind of go together? And are kind of parts of the same story? Kind of like a rough draft that I'm for some reason making public. Anyways. So here are some scenes and things within this coffee shop/band au. If you like it, feel free to take ideas or you know. If someone wants to collaborate with me on this, I have a lot of ideas and zero direction. Tell me if you like it and. Keep in mind. This is my first time posting anything or actually... writing anything for this fandom. If you have any pointers PLEASE gimme. I need all the help I can get.

Lexa's POV

You scratch at the twisting grain of the oak tabletop, waiting for your drink. The atmosphere here is always warm, always filled with people caught up in their own worlds, laughing or studying or having conversations. The bare rafters above catch your eye; through them, motes of dust drift lazily, illuminated by the bare hanging lights that cast a sweet incandescent glow over the entire room. Outside it is snowing. Soon, the owner of the shop will stop by each table and politely tell them that due to weather they'll be closing early. Along the walls, amongst other things, napkins with quotes and notebook pages filled with drawings and cartoons hang from two cork boards. The table that sits tucked behind a giant rusting coffee roaster in the back used to hold a secret notebook in which only those who were keen to the tradition would express themselves anonymously through words or illustrations. Declarations of love riddled those pages, along with inspiring quotes and meaningful elegies and illustrations of varying significance. Recently, the owner relocated the pieces of art to the two cork boards. It added to the introspective atmosphere the place seemed to encourage.

Your eyes drift down to one of the employees, who approaches you with drink in hand.

Sauntering over with an effortless smile curving his lips and kind eyes fixed, Bellamy Blake sets a ceramic mug down in front of you.

"Here's your coffee, babe," he says with a wink. He lingers for a second, brow furrowing the slightest bit. “You always look so lost, Lexa.”

From behind his aproned back, a cookie appears. He places it next to your coffee. A pick-me-up, you surmise.

“I am never lost. But thank you.” He raises his eyebrows, with a ghost of skepticism playing on his face. You see it but he's not one to press, so he turns away to return to work, an uttered, 'you're welcome,' trailing behind.

When he is not looking, you stow the plastic wrapped cookie in your bag with a sigh. The gesture isn't lost on you. You lean into the table once again and stare into your coffee as you sink three creams into it, which swirl lazily in a way that reminds you of ink. There's always been a sort of understanding rapport between you and Bellamy that you couldn't have with Octavia or any of your other mates. He is reliable and anchoring, always seeming to know what he is doing. It gives you a sense of security. And you can talk to him about almost anything without the fear of everyone else suddenly knowing too, what secrets you've divulged. You learned the hard way that Octavia is not as tight-lipped as her brother. Your eyes follow the curly-haired boy past the small bar near the back of the shop, where he stops to talk to a pretty blonde girl who you assume is new considering you don't recognize her.

She nods to Bellamy and returns to the counter where customers wait in line, while he disappears around a corner.


	2. habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> honestly this should really just be at the end of that first thing i posted... oh shwell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you find any mistakes at all with like phrasing or grammar or spelling please let me know! And if you have any feedback, it is so so so welcome.

After a few minutes of ~~staring at the hot barista~~ reading an old philosophy book that you stuff in your bag every day but hardly ever take out, you receive a text from Bellamy.

"Smoke break. Meet me n O?"

You sigh as you read his message knowing that your coffee is going to get cold if you go out. Despite that tacked on question mark, you don't really have a choice. Its a poorly concealed command that is all too common when it comes to Bellamy. After sliding your book back into your messenger bag, you leave through the front door of The Ark, eventually swinging around behind the line of shops that run down main street.

“Lex!”

You look up at the call, and standing in front of an old door with 'employees only' plastered on it in ugly yellow paint, are Bellamy and Octavia. The pair are standing in their regular clothes without jackets, and you really don't get how they aren't frostbitten because it's still snowing and even your fingertips are frozen. You've lived here years past them and yet they seem more at home in the cold than you ever were. Octavia is looking your way with a hand up as if you're not the only people in the alley.

“You're shivering,” you say as you come to a stop in front of them, snow squeaking in protest under your boots. Octavia levels a 'hey to you too,' which you ignore. "Gimme one," you say with a hand outstretched.

"Way to be polite," Bellamy grumbled, but he reaches into his pocket for a smushed carton of American Spirits anyway. "Don't you have your own?"

"I'm trying to quit." You light the end of the sweet smelling cigarette, "Smoking is bad for you, dont you know?"

You puff a cloud of smoke and steam towards Octavia, who giggles.

“Ready for the show tonight?” She asks with a nudge to your shoulder.

You nod sharply,“Of course.” Bellamy nods too. “Ghost has always been a really great place for exposure,” he offers.

“Yes," you agree, cigarette dangling from your lips, "We'll carve our names on the wall with all the other trash hipster bands. Of Montreal played there like two weeks ago.” Octavia lets out a gasp.

“I cant believe I missed them!” She complains, "And they are _not_ trash!" She all but scolds you. You smirk triumphantly and Bellamy laughs.

“We like them too, 'Tavia.... But you have to agree that they are the epitome of hipster trash,” Bellamy soothes, joking. She still pouts, but it's playful, and its just another piece of the siblings' act. Everyone grins and nods in agreement, shuffling in the snow. You scuff your boot into it until it's slush. Bellamy and Octavia start to talk about how they'll set up their stage. You lean into the 'EMPLOYEES ONLY' door, and finish your cigarette as they talk. You start picking at the chipped paint around the door's hinges and watch as you create little pile of red flakes in the snow. The blonde girl comes to mind as you stare at the growing pile. Her sweater was the same dark red hue as the door.

You hang out with the siblings for a few minutes longer before they disappear back into the store to close up. Octavia tells you to text Lincoln about the concert before shutting you outside 'because she cant, obviously.' Girls are so silly sometimes.

You forget about your coffee inside, and walk up the alley and back onto the main street where your motorcycle is parked next to a meter. No tickets, as expected. They never check anymore. You unlock the compartment under the seat and pull out a helmet, which you slide over your head. Straddling the bike and igniting the engine, you shoot your coworker a text before kicking off. Better meet Murphy to load up equipment.


	3. music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> clarke discovers something about her co-workers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I included some links to music in this lil chapter. Here are the instructions! When it appears, click on the asterisk (*) for the first one. Once you reach the second set (**) immediately stop the first song and skip to the second. Then, same as before, when you reach the third set of asterisks (***) play that song. Simply simple.
> 
> * is Behind Closed Doors by Sleep ∞ Over  
> ** is Romantic Streams by Sleep ∞ Over  
> *** is Evergreen by Broods

Clarke' POV

“Hey, Clarke.” Bellamy shows up by your side as you grab a bin overflowing with dirtied dishes at the end of the bar. He picks up stray mugs and silverware that never made it into the plastic bin as he speaks. “Thelonious said you can get out of here. Octavia and I are gonna shut it down soon.” 

"Sweet. I'll finish these dishes for you before I go then." You're surprised, but happy. It's been a long day with difficult customers, and your feet hurt from standing for six hours straight.

Bellamy follows you back to the dish washing station where he helps you stack plates and cups correctly into the power-washer.

“So,” Bellamy says as he closes the metal power washer lid. He turns to you fully, and you notice some water has splashed onto the front of his t-shirt from the sprayer. “Do you want to hang out tonight?” You blink. You are a little stricken since you've only really known him for a few days, and your confusion must register on your face because he's quick to elaborate. “Uh, I mean me and Octavia. Sort of.” He looks pained, stumbling over his words, “We're... In a band. What I'm really asking is do you want to come see our band play?” He gazes toward you sheepishly. "We can go somewhere afterwards," he adds.

“Well...” you start, wiping your hands on your pants, “sure, but,” who would you go with? He smiles a little, encouraging, hopeful, you let out a small sigh, “what kind of music do you play?” Bellamy's smile falters.

“It's... kind of hard to explain," he says, running a hand through his hair. "We're playing at the Ghost Lounge at eight. Come see for yourself,” he finishes, with some confidence and an easy smile.

You hum, shifting your feet, a little uncomfortable with having to make a commitment so suddenly. You could just lie and say you're busy. You hear a voice that sounds vaguely like your mother's encouraging you to go, and whats the harm, and you should make friends. Staring at Bellamy's wet shirt, you decide that you should probably just go. “Okay," you finally agree, looking back at his dopey expectant face. "Yeah I'll come then." 

"Nice!" Bellamy exclaims, his smile a sudden sun-beam, "I'll text you the address and full details. Sound good?"

"Sure," you say, "You can get my number off the contact sheet." You see him nod.

"See you later, Griffin."

"Bye," you say, leaving his silly grin and sparkling eyes behind to find your coat and clock out.

Finally in your car after walking the block to the run-down employees-only parking lot, it hits you that it's six o' clock on a saturday and for the first time since you got here, you have something to do that isn't work or netflix. A strange twisting excitement knots within you. Are these your friends? It seems a little too good to be true. Bellamy and Octavia are... pretty amazing. Both gorgeous, both charming and funny and personable. And in a band together, which, honestly speaking, is very adorable. You feel a little inferior. Boring Clarke. Boring, boring Clarke.

You only had a few friends in Bethesda, and most of them you only talked to in school. School kind of filled up your time. You took all the AP classes you could and forced yourself into student government. Any free time you had, you spent running, practicing for cross country. When you think about it now, it was all pretty useless. You never went to parties or made real, lasting friends. You even missed prom because you were paranoid about an upcoming test for biology. All that immersion in schoolwork didn't even achieve it's intended purpose. In fact, it kind of made things worse. You got stressed out about deadlines, and flew through things with an anxious fury that you thought was better than being depressed. It didn't drown out the depression like it was supposed to, it buried it where it could grow. And now, you're not even in college. You're just kind of... floating. Working. After graduating last year, you felt hollow, burnt out. You still do, but it's a little different now. It transformed. No longer having the constant workload you were used to, your mind kind of turned in on itself and all you could do was think about dad and his death. That stupid scene plays out in your head all the time. 

~

"Well, Clarke?" Says the nurse that stands in the corner. Posted there to make sure you follow through with the deed. Your mother's eyes are angry red from constant tears. She's known this was coming all week. Abby's known. How could she ask you to do it? The monitor is background music that is too loud. You focus on it too hard and each beep is a taunt. He's not really there, just a breathing carcass. He's already dead. But once you shut off the terrifying chorus of the ventilator that churns oxygen down your father's windpipe, he's really gone. There wont be a scruffy Jake-alike in front of you to mourn over. You'll put him in a box and you'll bury him in the ground just like countless pet goldfish. And just like the goldfish, he'll fade away from consciousness and become something you remember, but forget more easily. You want to keep this, at least this. But the decision is made for you, and Abby cant do it. You'll grant her that mercy. This is her husband, the boy she's loved since high school. The person she's cultivated a future with. The person she can no longer grow old with. You'll do it and you'll try not to hold it over her head. You flick the switch. The ventilator's perpetual labor is interrupted, and out from Jake's dry lips crawls a last wheeze of hospital air.

~

You let the car idle for a moment longer, and marinate in your thoughts, remembering how silent it was after you flicked that switch. No more beeping, no more whoosh of air, just your breathing and Abby's silent crying. And catch your breath. The car's hum is comforting. As you pull out of the parking lot, you pop in a cd so that you can focus on music instead of your thoughts.

* * *

You're surrounded by a crush of people.

Being the way you are, you left about a half hour early to get to the venue, paranoid of getting lost in the city and arriving late, paranoid that you'll miss the performance. Which is silly, because these things never start on time anyways. At least you'll get to speak to Bellamy and Octavia before they go backstage to prepare.

You pay for a ticket at the door, and show the ticket taker your ID as you enter the establishment. On the outside it stands idly between two other row buildings on a street that's peppered with bars and open-late restaurants, just another brick building with a neon sign. On the inside though, it is brightly lit, surprisingly, not at all how you imagined. The walls are dark red with posters and records and paraphernalia stretching from corner to corner. On one high shelf, you spot a taxidermied raccoon brawling with a bronze lizard. On another wall, above the bar, one of those singing dancing fish hangs. It is a queer place, but you can guess the appeal.

You glance around at the people as you walk through a threshold into a room where sits a stage and a pit with an overlooking upper level, where people peer over banisters, craning their necks to watch other concert-goers drink their beers and laugh and trade stories about concerts past. The room is a little less bright, and you are able to get close to the stage, a few loiterers surrounding you. They are as odd looking as the venue itself. Many are dressed like they're at a club, in skimpy dresses and crop tops that show off midriffs, faded t-shirts and ripped jeans abound. In the sea of mostly-brown and black hair, there is an occasional green or bright red. There are people in patched up jackets and tall, clunky shoes and tight pants with patterns. You feel a little out of place. After hard deliberation and changing in and out of clothes, you settled on the same outfit you wore to work, a thin button up with a simple maroon sweater over top and dark blue jeans and comfortable boots. You're starting to regret the decision because it's not cold inside by any stretch. Already you feel a little sweaty, if not from the room temperature then from nerves that knot your stomach and make your skin prickle. Maybe you should've invited your mom? You titter quietly to yourself.

The room fills up slowly at first, but then maybe ten minutes before the show is supposed to start, a surge of people arrive and they're subtly pushing their way to the front. A girl next to you nudges your shoulder.

“Hey,” she says when you make eye contact.

“Hey,” you say back. She is blue, kind eyes, and pale skin and dark, stylish hair.

“I'm Dani,” she proffers, and, leaning back a little, reveals another girl with short brown hair and round brown glasses who waves feebly, “and this is Abi. You look lonely.” She smiles warmly.

“Oh,” you smile awkwardly, “It's okay, I'm just here to see my friends.” Are they your friends? To say so seems to be... jumping the gun a tad. You ignore that thought.

“Are they around here?” Dani asks, peering over heads.

“Ah, no, they,” you say a little quickly, “They're in the band.” You gesture toward the stage. Her eyes boggle a little, and you blush.

“Wow, which one?” She asks, excited, and it dawns on you that you don't actually know the name of their stupid band, and the sick nervous knot is suddenly back. You open and close your mouth like a carp as the two girls stare at you expectantly, until finally, thankfully, the lights lower and the room is incredibly dark.

Seeming to forget the conversation ever happened, Dani turns and claps her hands once with an 'oh, it's starting,' and she wraps her arm around the other girl, who kisses her cheek.

You feel uneasy, like you just dodged a bullet. You focus on your surroundings to try to calm down.

This is more like what you imagined.

The crowd pushes forward as a red glow suddenly engulfs the stage and a smoke machine belches fog out onto the floor. A single girl is revealed at the center of everything, surrounded by equipment and keyboards and mixers. The sound of crushed plastic cups under foot interrupts the silence in staccato crunches, before a new sound begins to permeate the air([*](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lzBk0xRAGYQ)). A soft simple grinding modulation weaves into your ears.

The girl, clad simply in a faded black shirt and dark, oil slick leggings that catch the light in a subtle way, utters a breathy 'hello' toward the crowd and then her hands are fast at work. Through dark waving hair, you can see only some of her face, which seems to be covered in some kind of charcoal colored makeup. It resembles war paint. Slowly, she adds tones over the existing groaning backdrop that still arcs toward you, which soon forms into a large rumbling synth. From the shadows, two other people emerge, one on a drum set, and the other cradling a black pearlescent guitar. As quickly as they are seen, they add to the slow-building, roiling song, which goes on for a minute until it dissolves into a song a few people in the crowd seem to recognize and they give whistles and shouts([**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gOZ_eIXnMgo)). It is the weirdest, most entrancing music you have ever heard. Tiny transforming, curling notes emanate from the girl's dancing fingers. You close your eyes to let the distant though all-encompassing nature of the song wash over you, until suddenly, a voice is added to the mix and your eyes snap open. The girl has raised her lips to the mic and her hair settles back as her voice floats outward above the rest of the music, gentle, present, delving deep within you. She is dreamy and celestial and above the grating screech of the guitar and the monotonous simplistic drums her voice rises, stunning and mercurial, echoing gossamer lyrics. The music twists and dips in ways you cannot anticipate.

Most of the crowd around you stands quietly, some swaying, some not into it at all. You vaguely hear from behind you, a man spit out 'this bitch is weird, I'm getting another drink,' and a venom rises in you, feeling strangely protective of this music and the band. You spare a glance to the left at the two girls from before and they are soundly leaning into each other, occasionally kissing. You fix your stare back at the stage which glows now in a soft teal light, and projected on the bare wall behind the musicians, geometric images tangle and disentangle forming different patterns endlessly.

Over the music the enticing girl whispers her words to you. Coiling in the ambience of the bloated tones around her, she sings high, echoing effected intervals where her s's are pronounced and sharp and her breaths are just audible as she prepares carefully for each note and each note is accentuated by the alien synths warping at her fingertips, and soon enough they are getting quieter and less until just a single note is drawn out and outwards just like when they began playing who knows how long ago. Her voice rings out just barely above it.

“Thank you.” She breathes, and seems to look directly at you. The word 'Grounder' is boldly displayed in white capitals behind her. You assume that is the name of the band. They shuffle off the stage silently, leaving behind the glaring white letters and a gaping maw of non-sound.

The stage darkens once more. You are silent while everyone else throws out lazy cheers, and finally you realize that Bellamy and Octavia weren't up there. Suddenly gripped by terror, you look to your left. Thankfully, Dani and Abi are no longer there. They must have left or been sucked away by the crowd. Did you go to the wrong venue? You thought you saw 'Ghost Lounge' emblazoned in green neon on the shabby front of the building. It then strikes you that that might've been the opening band. Your heartbeat slows again, and your vision unblurs, the panic subsides. Of course. The lights are raised, and some people move to get drinks from the bar near the entrance of the tiny venue. Overhead, soft trending music plays and is drowned out by conversation.

You stand still staring at the stage, silence screeching in your ears. Images of the ethereal girl play in front of your eyes like she was still there, eyes cast ever downwards, sometimes closing as she bobbed and swayed slow to the music she was creating, hands occasionally flourishing to follow a growing bass or falling run of notes. The feeling of hugeness returns to you, warm in your belly like a coal. Non-sound blares in your head as you remember each feeling that passed through you.

During the twenty minute intermission, a stage crew breaks down and resets the equipment, dragging some things to different spots and removing others altogether. A mix table sits in the center of the stage, and another keyboard hovers at the right of it. The drum set remains in the back, but they add a few things to the tiny alcove it creates for the drummer. After sound checks and plugging and unplugging things, they are finally done.

A few minutes later, Bellamy and Octavia are on stage, doing final checks. They look stunning. You caught glimpses of them while they helped pass microphone stands up to people from behind, but on stage they are something else. Bellamy is a strong presence in his well-fitted short sleeve button up that tucks into tight neat dark blue jeans. His hair is slicked into a tight pompadour. Octavia, though, commands attention in her soft leather jacket under which a sheer black dress hugs her form. Her make-up is dark and fierce. She cradles a stark white guitar in her hands.

“Hello, everyone,” she says into the microphone standing in front of her, voice loud, smooth, abrupt, “Thanks for showing up.” She looks down, spotting you and waves slightly with a smirk. Shifting her eyes back to the crowd, she introduces them([***](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k3ecsAd-NMY)). “This first song is called Home, and we are The Newcomers.”

Starting with an ambient background with soft, voice-like synths lain over top, Bellamy abruptly starts a steady base beat for the song. He bobs his head calmly, and lazily whips the sticks into the drums. Then, Octavia's voice, soft, fills the room. Her hands work at the knobs and emulators in front of her, twisting and tapping, and, just like the music of the first performer, you have never heard anything like it. The lyrics are lost on you until Bellamy joins in with a deep breathy voice, backing Octavia's high clear vocals as they sing the chorus of the song.

“Since we found out that we're invincible,” they sing, music rising, “we've been living in a dream world.”

“Since we decided to be infinite, there's no ending and there's no fear.” The lines strike you deeply; you don't know why. Bellamy works the drum set, laying his voice faintly behind Octavia's, his face at times is pinched, like he's moved by sound. The second round of the chorus is followed by a dipping layered hook by Octavia. The crowd around you undulates and pushes and pulls, and the experience is completely different from before. More upbeat, more breathless. The rest of their set flies by, amazing, following the pulsing minimal nature of the first song, leaving room for each collection of notes to settle into your breast. You realize absently that it doesn't quite touch you like the fascinating confusing music of Grounder.

Before the performance, Bellamy told you to meet them backstage after they played. You follow his instructions and track along the stage edge, wading through abandoned cups, and curve around to a nook residing at the very right of the venue. Here, the walls are painted a matte black, and in front of an easily overlooked entrance Bellamy stands behind a black rope, hands in his pockets, hair slightly disturbed.

“Hey.” He smiles at you, looking a little tired, but definitely glowing. His arms must ache after swinging sticks at a drum set for an hour.

“Hey,” you breathe back, silence still loud in your ears. It feels weird to talk. “You guys were really great. I understand what you meant by 'hard to describe',” you joke, making air quotes, “What genre would that even be? Pop electronic??” Bellamy smiles.

“Believe me, we cant figure it out either. Come on back,” He pushes the rope down for you and helps you clamber unceremoniously over it.

“Am I allowed to do this?” You ask nervously with your hand in his cold fingers. You slip it away.

“I don't know, but fuck it,” he smiles, “I want you to meet someone.” You look at him, confused, with your eyebrows furrowed. “How did you like the opener?" He continues, "You looked pretty into it from what I saw,” he says leading you down a skinny hall.

“Okay? Were you, like, staring at me the whole time, butt-chin?” You joke. "I liked them." He chuckles with a 'knew it.' Up close you can see that the pattern on the button up he's wearing is tiny skeleton hands holding up the middle finger. You shake your head as you walk with him back through the hall which finally opens up into a small lounge-like room with an old television, a couch, and a mini fridge taking up most of the space.

Inside, Octavia stands with a tall muscular man, talking and giggling and flashing smiles at him. On the couch, the girl from Grounder sits, spread out and relaxed with her eyes closed and her head leaned back. A little starstruck, your breath hitches at the sight of her (you hope not audibly). The make-up is gone, showing a beautiful tan face. Up close, she is even more breath-taking, with a straight nose and pronounced jawline and long neck and full lips, and you simply stand there alongside Bellamy for a minute, fully believing this girl is a myth, until he clears his throat and her eyes slide open and her gaze is on you.

“Oh, Clarke!” Octavia exclaims, surprising you into reality. She walks over, with the tall man in tow. “This is Lincoln.” He greets you with a hand shake. He is large and smiles warmly. The girl on the couch stares at you from behind them with a seizing gaze that makes you feel frozen. Your eyes lock for a moment, before Octavia lets out a little 'oh!' and she moves from in front of the Grounder girl.

“This is Lexa,” Octavia explains. The girl gives a kind of half-smile.

“I'm sure you recognize me from earlier,” are her first words to you. And yes, you do, absolutely you do. Her lips tug all the way into a beguiled smirk. She seems to be looking at you, expectantly.

You clear your voice and say with what you think is confidence, "I do, though it's a struggle without all that makeup giving you away." You smirk, happy with yourself for being able to function correctly. “My name is Clarke. You were really great."

“Okay guys,” Bellamy says, corralling everyone's attention, “I'm gonna get this shit out of my hair and then we can go.” He walks through a door at the end of the room, leaving you and Lexa to pair off considering Octavia and Lincoln are in their own world. They go back to conversing ("He hates gelling his hair up like that." "Then why does he?") which quickly devolves into Lincoln praising Octavia and shamelessly flirting. You shift your weight, uncomfortably, and suddenly discover how much your feet hurt. Standing is hard work. You step towards the couch.

“May I?” Lexa is staring up at you, seeming permanently amused by you.

“Sure,” she says in a strong clear voice. It is entirely different from her singing. As you sit slowly down, not too close to her, you wonder.

“Where are we going?” You ask, too curious to be awkward about it.

“Out for drinks. Are you coming then?” Her eyes always seem to stare. The bear into you. Your face falls a little.

“I'm not old enough to drink,” you reply, eyes down, embarrassed. Lexa's sharp laugh makes you whip your head up to look at her.

“Neither am I,” she explains, bemused again, “So what.”

And like that, you are doing two things on a saturday night.

It is ten pm and you are more excited to be with a group of people than you have been in a long time. With a stunning girl who you are afraid of, for more reasons than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this one... I wrote this first before anything and it really inspired me to like... build the world a bit. Please tell me if I'm doing anything wrong (or right) ;o


End file.
